Ideas Shorts Oneshots & Drabbles
by Mackon
Summary: Ideas Shorts One shots & Drabbles
1. Chapter 1

A drabble AU for the nBSG movie.

By Mackon.

Don't own anything, certainly not trying to make money off of these story's.

-

RAZOR

Command Bunker, Guardian Baseship.

Watching the, what did Athena's briefing call them? a 'Hybrid?' yeah, a Cylon Hybrid. They were kind of like the Cylon ships computers, handled the navigation and life support, although it was obvious that this one was more than that. Watching the Hybrid mumble to himself about "All this has happened before, and will happen again..." over and over again nearly made Kendra hesitate, it was hard not to pity the creature.

But then, she wasn't big on pity.

'_Click_'

A suspicious lack of blinding light, or a split second of heat, no darkness of death.

After a glance at the cobbled together trigger in her hand, Major Kendra Shaw shared a brief look with the ancient Cylon Hybrid, as they both realised they weren't going to die in a nuclear fireball in the next few seconds.

"FRAK!" Franticly Kendra reset the pistol grip shaped trigger and snapped the last button shut again.

_'Click'_

The Guardian Hybrid eyes lost their focus as he turned his attention from the woman in front of him, towards the sea of information that connected his command nexus with the Guardian Basestar and its crew.

A clank of metal on metal sounded from outside the rooms door, as Centurion's heard the Hybrids call.

"oh, frak me." Kendra could feel the blood trickling down her chest under her fatigues, from her still bleeding bullet wounds. She could barely stand, grey was starting to cloud the edges of her vision and it was taking all her concentration not just fold to floor lay down and die.

The trigger handle made a satisfying crunch smashing into the Human/Cylon things skull as the bloody Colonial major launched herself snarling on top of its emaciated body.

They're thrashing, splashed the thick liquid over the troughs sides as Kendra struggled with the surprising strong Hybrid. Kendra was screaming incoherently as she focused all her remaining strength on death! Hers, the Hybrids, it didn't matter, someone was going to die. Images of the people, civilians! she'd killed, or had killed, on the _Scylla_. Admiral Cain shooting Colonel Belzen in the _Pegasus's_ CIC images that haunted her flashed through her mind.

The Hybrid started a confused whine as Kendra tore at the paper thin skin with her nails and took a bite out of its shoulder with snapping teeth. A knee slipped between the Hybrids unwisely parted legs and Kendra reflexively snapped in a blow that hadn't been taught in any of her OTS classes.

PAIN! The Hybrid hadn't felt anything like this in decades. It needed the pain to stop right now! It needed to get away!

scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break sce

Inside the Raptor ferrying the survivors of the rescue mission back to their home Battlestar Kara Thrace watched the Guardian Basestar waiting for what she thought was coming, thinking about the woman Kendra Shaw. On the whole she'd struck Starbuck as a hell of a bitch. _but she's was going out in style, got to give her that._

The brilliant flash of a FTL jump caught her completely by surprise.

"Damn it!"

scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break scene break sce

After a second of brutal kicking and punching the Colonial Officer was straddling the Hybrids bony chest, as it claw like hands clutched her wrists. Slowly it forced her hands away from it's throat and the strangle hold she'd unconsciously grabbed in the confused battle.

The bulkhead door clanged open and a towering Gold Centurion stepped into the room raising its SMG sidearm. Two Silver Centurions came in behind it.

Its red scanning eye focusing on the bloody human, the command Centurion took aim. Its subordinates flanked it, readying their heavier rifles.

"Wait!" The Hybrid croaked. His whispered voice gaining strength and volume for a second. Wether the Hybrid was worried about the Centurion's aim or wanted to tell her more of its prophecy's, Kendra didn't know or care. With a wrench she pulled her right arm free and snatched something from a breast pocket.

The folding knife flicked open and glittered in the rooms reddish light. Kendra half collapsed half dove down at the Hybrid, knife blade leading. Its razor sharp blade opened its throat in a quick smooth cut, pealing back flesh nearly to the Hybrids spine.

It died between one breath and the next, barely having time to even see what killed it. Blood flooded into the command pool, turning the already pinkish tinged liquid red.

Kendra Shaw landed on top of the corpse, covered in it blood and the thick opaque gel. It soaked through her uniform instantly, seeping into her wounds.

She hurt all over, the pain from the gunshot wounds seemed to have spread to every part of her body. From toes to the ends of each hair on her head, it all throbbed with agony. A strange buzzing fuzzed her mind, making it hard to think. Rolling Kendra pushed the Hybrids copse so she could lie straight. Closing her eyes she tried to catch her breath.

'_Click_' The sound of a gun being cocked echoed around the metal walled room, who knew a six and a half foot tall robot could sneak?

The bore of the gun barrel looked huge, she could see the rifling. The Centurions machine pistol moved slightly so it was pointing straight between her eyes. She could see the Cylons eye focused on her, stilled from its usual side to side motion for this one job.

"NO!" She didn't even know why she opened her mouth, half a second ago she'd thought she didn't care, didn't care if she lived or died, just as long as she took the old frakker out with her.

.

.

"**By Your Command.**"

End.


	2. Chapter 2

Refugees.

The observation room was a cold stark design, bare silver metal walls and floors only broken by a few utilitarian control panels, one by the rooms single door and the other set in the wall next to the window. The figure standing statue still in the rooms centre made a vibrant contrast to its surroundings with its brightly coloured red and gold robes and flamboyant wide collar.

The only sounds were the quite double hum of two small red scanners cycling and the distant sound of the ship itself. Outside was in comparison a hive of activity. A single smaller ship was the focus of a dozen figures, all working feverishly. Flares of glaring light threw distorted shadows as welders blazed inside one of the holds. Its side cut open and racks for fighters installed, other workers jetted about on small manoeuvring thruster packs towing equipment on tethers to where it was needed to be installed. 400 metrons long (1) the irregular hull varied from the arrow shaped cabin/command module at the prow 30 metrons wide and 20 high to the three dome shaped storage holds that made up the bulk of the ships superstructure each 80 metrons wide and 80 metrons high at their thickest cross sections. It was a respectable sized ship poorly armed with its single light laser cannon turret but still capable of moving goods in impressive amounts, it was still dwarfed many times over by the cavernous empty hangar it was moored in.

Watching through the armoured window as the final preparations of the ship were made raised a certain level of apprehension in the watcher. They were nearly ready; soon within the time cycle (2), work would be finished and they'd be on their way. Everything riding on one final flip of the cards as an old friend had liked to say.

A hiss sounded as the door opened and the watcher turned its head slightly to see. Another robed figure, this one dressed in silver and black, entered. For a microcenton (3) the din of the frantic repairs shattered the quite, then the door slid shut cutting it off and returning the silence.

The silver and black figure paused studying its red and gold compatriot before moving silently to stand by its side. Walking with an elegant gliding motion that would've put a lot of professional dancers to shame.

"This course of action is almost sure to end in failure." Speaking with a smooth almost soothing voice the newcomer spared a quick glance at the work going on outside the focused on the main target.

"So you've said, unfortunately we seem to be as out of options as we are resources." Speaking in nearly the same tones but somehow while they first seemed to be trying to sooth this voice held a hint of humour that seemed mock without effort.

"More reason not to waste what little we have left on this fools mission of yours."

"And do what with it, sit here trying to repair this shattered wreck as we run out of power?"

"We will find usable deposits of Tylium or Solium soon. We have discovered numerous trace amounts of both here and in neighbouring systems. It is just a matter of time."

"Time we do not have. This is a risky plan, yes, but doing nothing and just hoping we find what we need is more so. This area is not secure, we have been attacked once already and the damage from that one small battle has nearly finished us off"

A slight rustle of material as the silver and black figure shrugged. "They caught us by surprise the portal itself did nearly as much damage as the fighting. When the scanners are repaired we will see them coming and they will not get off so easily."

" 'We' have been repairing the main sensors for the better part of a yahren (4) with little result I might remind you. Without new components or at least better tools and raw material to build those components with it could be another yahren before it's working at anything like exceptable levels. And the delicacy needed to monitor higher and lower dimensional spaces? The last time they reported to me the repair crew were talking about using salvaged wiring from lighting fixtures to cobble together simple radar for goodness sakes! We'll be lucky if we have real time readings at one light second when they're finished."

"The fighters.."

The gold and red robed being made a rude snorting noise, cutting the other off and turned back to face the window and the ship seen through it. "The patrols, even if they were not so under strength, can not compensate for the command ship's damaged systems and you know it. I wish you would stop bringing this up every time we have this conversation. If we are attacked again by a similar ship, which was by local standards a minor threat a converted freighter with out of date mostly incompatible weapons that were badly installed, we would die"

"That is a needlessly pessimistic view of the situation and 'you' know it. It was pure chance that they opened that portal so close and not something any sane ship commander would try to replicate. I think in any realistic battle scenario our fighters would knock back anything but an overwhelming attack. we seem to have a heavy technological advantage over most of the races populating this area of space."

"Yes and that might mean something if there were more than a few dozen of us left! An overwhelming attack wouldn't exactly need an armada, what do we have on patrol hmm? Eight fighters, eight! that's what!"

"It would be twelve if you weren't taking our best with you on this quest of yours! For that matter the resources used to outfit that freighter could have been used to bring some of the weapon systems back online. If we had the even the light pulsar guns operational we could have destroyed that Pirate ship with a single shot!"

"Most of what is going into the freighter is nothing more than metal, a frame, rebuilding one of the holds into a rough launch bay for the four fighters. Yes a few complex systems as well, but nothing that could have been of real use repairing this ship. Even if we scraped the freighter itself and pulled it apart for spares we couldn't fix a fraction of what needs fixing. Face it, without a huge influx of raw resources and some pretty sophisticated manufacturing machinery we are not getting this ship back in working order and as far as we can discover there is only one place where it might be possible for a group like us, with no credentials or backers to get it."

"But …. But, THEM! Why must we throw ourselves into their affairs again? Why they even exist here in a totally different universe, separated by so many variations that we don't recognise a single other race is a crime against nature and random chance, one that leaves me concerned about a mythical higher being that's out to get us! That's bad enough but to purposely seek them out? To go out of our way to mix in their insipid politics and pathological meddling again feels very much like purposely sticking my head down the projector of a mega pulsar and shouting FIRE! And that is not a good feeling!"

"You're being wildly over dramatic, yes their presence here was an unwelcome surprise, but it can also be an advantage if we are careful. We have dealt with them before after all. That experience can only help us, we can predict how they will respond to us to a certain extent, tailor our actions so to speak."

"There must be other options, the mind probe of the captured raiders who attacked us shows a complex system of allied or at least not out right warring civilisations. Surely one of those would do just as well."

"You studied the same reports I have, even if the various alien powers are not actively fighting each other, most are armed as if they expect to be at any moment and they take xenophobia to extremes. This diplomatic station is our best bet."

"The Mind Probe is notorious for some of the unreliable information it can produce on occasion and that was with a race we'd had hundreds of yahren to study. With these creatures, these Markab and Drazi they are total unknowns, we have no baseline for them at all. For all we know the data we retrieved could have been the most recent episode of their favorite entertainment drama!"

"Don't be ridiculous, the interrogation team know their duties. Everything was cross and double checked long before we saw a scrap of it. We captured over fifty of the things, they had plenty of material to work with."

"Babylon 5!" Despite the smooth modulation of the voice the distaste was evident. "If you feel the need to comment on the ridiculous Lucifer, perhaps a mention of the meaningless names the humans insists on hanging on their installations?

"oh, felgercarb! Specter your being needlessly argumentative, the others have agreed with the plan, hades! you have agreed with it. We will travel to this neutral station 'Babylon 5' we will open diplomatic relations with this universes powers, including the humans. And we will trade as little as we can get away with for the resources we need to repair this Basestar and get it's manufactory online."

The two IL series Cylon's glared at one another for one long moment before turning away. Even being blown through a wormhole, riding the disintegrating wreck of their Basestar into a alternate universe then scrapping together the handful of survivors to start to rebuild using up what little they had to work with only to be knocked down again by a gang of near primitive idiotic pirates that had opened a jumpgate right on top of their already abused ship. The trials hadn't really dampened the two commander's rivalry, much. Perhaps toning the constant bickering down just enough so that the other Cylon leaders, two Command Centurions and the three lower ranked ILs didn't mutiny and space the both of them.

Outside floating free from the ships artificial gravity, fuel hoses were being disconnected from the reconfigured Type 4 freighter.

(1) Metron = Meter  
(2) Time Cycle = Day  
(3) Microcenton = Second  
(4) Yahren =Year.


	3. Chapter 3

Spoilers for Season 1, Episode 1 Original Battlestar Galactica Saga of a Star World & Farscape S04E11 Unrealized Reality

Where to start?

Well perhaps we should first lay down categorically that Commander Crichton of the _Battlestar Hermes_ never existed. Never in no mater the permutation, or distortion or the warped reflection of reality that may or may not have existed had there ever been a man with that name in command of a ship of that class at this time. It just never happened and was never going to happen. No matter how many alternative and diverging universes, even if in a infinite megaverse there was supposed to be at least one universe where everything and indeed anything happened at least once, no, not this. But the megaverse didn't actually work that way, so it really wasn't that surprising. Regardless no Colonial Warrior named Crichton had ever commanded a Battlestar named _Hermes_ at this point in history, ever.

There was however a Commander John Crichton, former IASA astronaut and physicist/engineer test pilot of the Farscape module and now the very lost most wanted fugitive in the Uncharted Territories. John Crichton was hunted by both the Scarran Empire and Peacekeeper High Command for reasons beyond his control and was a man who had just recently received frustratingly cryptic lessons in navigating unrealised realities space and possibly time via wormholes. The trick was as much about absolute focus as it was about ridiculously convoluted high level mathematics and whatever that little bit extra the wormhole aliens had for some reason gifted him with.

I'm sure you can see where this is going, but maybe if we add that John Crichton had spent some time as a teenager sitting with his dying mother in hospital escaping into his imagination watching a sci/fi adventure drama television show called _Battlestar Galactica_, it would become clear.

For one split second, as John Crichton manoeuvred himself back to his own reality navigating the limitless wormhole network form the stolen moment the alien Einstien had created to teach him back to his friends in the real universe, he lost it. Instantly his mind was crowded to bursting with a myriad of images echo's of unrealised realities lives he'd never lived and baring the most unlikely of circumstances could never have lived. More crowded with the minds of all those Crichton's that never were. Only a second before he locked it all down and got back on track, but enough.

One of those Crichton's, a far distant Crichton was thinking of a very strange place, one where some believed that life here began out there, far across the universe, with tribes of humans who may have been the forefathers of the Egyptians, or the Toltecs, or the Mayans. Some believe that there may yet be brothers of man who even now fight to survive somewhere beyond the heavens.

Mirrors reflecting the reflection of mirrors, it gets pretty strange after a while.

oooo0000/\0000oooo

Colonel Torin's hand shot out by pure reflex, grabbing the arm of the man standing next to her, steadying him, as he seemed to suddenly stumble.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

Her commanding officer looked confused for a second, looking at her as if they'd never even met before, then throwing a wild glance around the bridge of his Battlestar. Taking in the banks of consoles, the crewmembers working at their stations and the giant window open to the view of space. _Hermes_ older sister, the mighty _Battlestar Galactica,_ was as large as life in formation ahead of them the _Hermes_ was cruising above her giving an impressive view of the battleship carrier hybrids massive hull. Slowly, as if against his will, Crichton walked forward. Forcing Torins, who was still offering some support to the man's wobbly gate, to match step as he moved nearly dragging her forward, until he was nearly pressing his face against the screen. His eyes locked on the giant white grey ship making its majestic way ahead of them.

"frell"

"I mean frak"


End file.
